


Beauty and The Hound

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I blame this on too much coffee and not enough sleep. I began to see a lot of similarities between Beauty and The Beast and Sansa and Sandor's relationship, so I decided to do a retelling of the former with A Game of Thrones characters, mainly Sansa and Sandor. We'll see how it goes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rose

Ned felt the dawning sunlight warm his back as he trotted down the beaten road on his horse. It felt good to be riding again, out of the walls of Winterfell and on the open road. He glanced around at his group of companions; all seasoned riders and fighters serving as his guards for their journey. They were not likely to come across outlaws, but Ned always decided on the most cautious route. Ser Rodrik Cassel trotted up to Ned and rode beside him for a short time.  
'We should make it to King's Landing in good time.' He reported. 'We have been blessed with good weather.'  
Ned smiled. 'Aye, that we have.' He looked up at the faded pink sky of morning, a slight mist covered the vast, rolling hills of the landscape surrounding Winterfell. He took a deep breath of cool, fresh air.  
'Yes'. He thought. 'It's good to be out here.' 

Ned thought back to that morning as he had left for the city, saying goodbye to his children. Little Rickon had begun to cry as Ned hugged him goodbye. Ned's heart softened at that and, knowing his children well, asked if there was anything Rickon wanted as a present from King's Landing. The little boy's tears had stopped at that and he looked up gleefully. After much deliberation, he and Bran, the second youngest, had both asked for toy knights.  
Feeling obliged to ask the others, they too had given their requests.  
Jon had smiled at his father's kindness. 'A black cloak to keep the winter at bay.'  
Next he went to Theon. Theon was not truly his son, he was a ward, but Ned had brought him up and thought of him as one of his own.  
Theon had pondered deeply before looking up with his answer. 'A nice pair of new boots.'  
Ned then made his way to the training yard and found his eldest son, Robb.  
Robb had grinned at him. 'Find me the most beautiful girl in all of King's Landing and bring her back for me.' Ned had laughed hard at that.  
After that, he had begun to saddle up his horse after looking for his daughter, Arya, for what felt like an hour. He had just about given up when he suddenly felt a sharp tug on his hair. Ned turned around and saw her simply standing there, grinning up at him. He had never heard her coming.  
'Where have you been Arya?' He asked.  
She smiled proudly. 'I caught a raven and put it in Sansa's room.'  
Ned frowned at his daughter, attempting to hide a smile. No matter how foul or bitter Ned's mood, Arya always seemed to find a way to make him laugh. 

'And does your sister know it's-'  
Ned was cut off by a loud shriek coming from Sansa's bedroom window, answering his question. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, readying himself to deal with the situation. When he opened them again, Arya was smiling innocently up at her.  
'I would like a new sword'. She said.  
Ned didn't even question how Arya knew he was going to ask her that, so he simply nodded and went up to Sansa's room. 

She had been backed against the wall, her expression terrified. One of the guards was attempting to shoo the raven out of the open window but to no avail. The sound of the raven's shrieks filled the air, black feathers fluttering to the ground.  
Upon seeing Ned, Sansa had ran to her father and hugged him.  
'I was just reading when it- it flew in', she squealed.  
Ned smoothed her hair down. 'I know.'  
'And then it started squawking and flying around the room!'  
'I know.'

Suddenly the room fell silent. Ned looked up and saw the raven flying off into the open sky. The guard smiled, content, and left the room. 

'Sansa, it's gone now', Ned said softly.  
She looked up and sniffed, before crossing to her bed and picking up her book; checking it for damage. Ned went over and sat next to her, peering at the book. Sansa usually had her head in a book, whether she was walking, sitting, talking or eating. This one appeared to be one of her favourites; it was about a mysterious, handsome knight who had rescued a young lady from a dragon and given her a rose as a gift.  
Sansa smiled down at the book, smoothing the page with her slender fingers.  
'I have to get going now', Ned sighed. 'Is there anything you would like from King's Landing?'  
Sansa kept her gaze on the illustration of the rose in her book before replying. 'A rose.'  
Ned frowned. 'A rose?'  
She nodded up at him. Ned kissed her on the forehead, bid her goodbye, and turned from the room.  
As he strolled out into the yard, his wife stood waiting by his horse, hands folded in front of her. Even after decades spent together, Ned was still struck by the pride and elegance in Catelyn's stance. Her face showed years of laughter and happiness, her eyes bright and youthful.  
Ned held her by the shoulders as he heard his companions readying their horses around him.  
'And what would you like?' He asked, putting his face close to hers.  
Catelyn smiled at him knowingly. 'Just come back safely. And don't let Robert push you around.' Ned chuckled. 'I'll make sure he doesn't.'

Ned was going to miss his family for the time he would be away, but it would make it all the more sweeter when he returned.  
A few hours later, as the group of them continued on their way, Ned noticed that the clouds had begun to darken and the threat of rain was now imminent, despite the calm start.  
One of the boys came up beside Ned. 'If I may say so, m'lord, there's a short cut through that forest up ahead.' He gestured to the huge mass of trees that stood to the right of the road, it seemed to stretch on for miles.  
Ned frowned. 'I think we'd best stick to the road.'  
The boy nodded and fell behind, in stead with his fellow riders. But as he did so. Ned looked up at the sky with a dark expression on his face. The gentle mist from before had grown thicker until it became hard to see far in front.  
'Ser Rodrik', Ned called, keeping his eyes on the descending mist. The old knight once more trotted beside him, eyeing the clouds. 'Do you think it wise to stay on the road?'  
Cassel looked uneasy and stroked his long brown whiskers. 'It may be prudent to take shelter in those trees, but we will lose time.'  
'Robert can wait', he decided. He had known the king since he was a boy, the two of them were like brothers and he knew he'd understand.  
'We make for the forest', he said.

As they entered through the trees, Ned knew he had made the right decision as the sound of rain could now be heard from beyond the trees and the men felt drops of water fall on their heads and shoulders.  
Once they were fairly deep into the woods, the group dismounted and began making a fire, fishing out rashes of bacon to keep them going through the cold.  
The young boys huddled around the fire as they swapped stories about the surrounding lands. Ned sought out Ser Rodrik.  
'We stay only until the rain stops', he said quietly. 'I don't like the feeling of this forest.'  
Ser Rodrik looked around, uneasily, as though sharing Ned's thoughts. He got the feeling that they were being watched from all around, as though they shouldn't be there.  
Ned shook his head, attempting to rid the thoughts from his mind, and sat down near the rest of his group, tuning into their conversation.  
'I hear there's a giant dog that lives in this forest', one of the boys said, grabbing a piece of bacon.  
'I've heard that too!' Said another lad eagerly. 'I heard it eats people and its house is made of the skeletons of anyone who comes here.'  
Another laughed at that. 'That doesn't make any sense. My sister told me that a friend of hers had seen a man in here once. He was huge, the size of a bear, but he only had half a face. She said that the other half had been ripped off by his dog.'  
They all ate in silence, looking around warily a the trees. Ned stifled a laugh. He remembered as a lad making up stories like those to scare others and himself. 

As night descended, the rain had only gotten worse, so reluctantly, they had decided to stay in the forest for the night, taking it in turns to keep watch. Ned found himself falling asleep fairly easily, despite the ominous atmosphere of the forest. After the boys' stories, they all appeared jumpy and unsure but the crackling fire they made seemed to keep all doubts at bay. 

However, Ned was woken suddenly by someone shaking his shoulder. Immediately awake, he sat up, reaching for his sword. One of the boys was knelt in from of him, the moonlight illuminating a terrified expression on his face.  
He gulped. 'It's Jarred. We can't find him.'  
Ned stood up, unsheathing his longsword, Ice. 'Where is everyone?'  
The boy's face crumbled. 'I-I don't know, they all ran off looking for him. He said something about a shortcut.'  
'What's your name?' Ned asked, trying to keep him calm.  
'Rowan', he replied, his teeth chattering.  
Ned looked around, trying to determine the best way to find the boy. A howl suddenly sounded from deep inside the forest, sending shivers down Ned's arms.  
He gritted his teeth. 'Come on'. He said, pulling the boy to his feet as they both ran through the trees.

Again, Ned had the sensation that there was something very wrong with this forest. It wasn't particularly threatening or dangerous but it felt like they were unwelcome. He had half the mind to turn back onto the open road and try and regroup there, but with a pang of dismay, Ned realised he didn't have a clue where they were, let alone where the road was. So, with a feeling of dread, they continued through the trees, leaping over fallen tree trunks and roots.

There came from far away a sudden scream. Rowan stopped abruptly.  
'Jarred?' He yelled. 'Hold on, I'm coming!'  
And without a backward glance he tore off through the trees in search of his friend.  
'Hey!' Ned called. He could understand the boy's anxiety but that was a foolish decision. He cursed under his breath and rubbed the back of his head, attempting to figure out some sort of plan.  
He knelt down, gently touching the soil, checking for footprints and sure enough he found some. Whoever it was had big feet and a heavy build so Ned assumed it was one of the bigger lads. He sheathed his sword and, as quietly as he could, followed the tracks.

They seemed to go on forever, and Ned began to doubt whether he was going the right way, he seemed to be going deeper and deeper into the forest; something he had been trying to avoid. His feet began to grow weary and he was thirsty and hungry too, but Ned attempted to block his needs out, focusing on finding his men. 

Eventually he came upon a large house. Ned stared up at it, bewildered. It was dark and overgrown, looking as though no one had lived there for years. The windows were stained and some had cracks in them. Vines encircled the house so it was hard to see the bricks underneath. The place gave off a haunted, mournful feeling and Ned wanted nothing more than to keep on walking right past it, but he saw with dismay that the footprints lead right up the front door.  
'Perhaps one of them managed to find shelter', he thought.  
With a grim face and a feeling of dread, Ned trudged forward into the house, finding that the front door was unlocked. The first thing Ned noticed about the house was the coldness, it felt colder than outside, he could see his breath misting up in front of him. Ned appeared to be the kitchen; he could see cupboards and a wooden table stood in the middle of the room. On it lay an abandoned loaf of bread and cheese with a flask next to it. 

Ned looked at them with longing. He was suddenly much more aware of his hunger and thirst. He looked around, wandering whose house it was. Did the food belong to the owner? He was now beginning to doubt that any of his men had found their way here otherwise they would have shown themselves by now.

'Hello?' Ned called out in a hoarse whisper. There was no reply, only the distant sound of rain against the windows.

Uneasily, Ned sat down at the table and, with a silent apology to the mysterious owner, tore off a chunk of bread. It was sweet and soft in his mouth, not stale, it had been cooked recently. Perhaps someone was home?  
Tearing off another chunk of bread, Ned vowed to find the owner the next morning and explain himself once he'd gotten some rest. It had been a long night.

Too exhausted to do anything more, Ned lay down on the floor, huddled himself up in his cloak, and settled down for the night.

The next morning Ned awoke to sunlight streaming in through the windows. He looked up hazily before remembering where he was. He stared at the door facing him, leading to the rest of the house.  
'Before I do anything else I must introduce myself to the owner', he thought, striding over to the door. He turned the door knob, hesitantly, only to find it locked. He rattled it, but it made no difference. Ned breathed a sigh of relief and turned away, pocketing the rest of the bread and cheese and drinking some of the wine in the flask. He felt bad for doing so without permission, but he couldn't help that. With a guilty feeling, Ned walked out of the house.

He turned around, taking one final look at the strange building. For a moment he thought he saw a shadow go past the window but Ned assumed it was his mind playing tricks on him. Despite it being daytime, it was still gloomy in the forest and the air smelt of damp moss from the previous night's rain. As he turned to go, out of the corner of his eye Ned spotted a flower bed round the side of the house. Curious, he walked up to it. His mouth opened slightly as he saw a beautiful bed of roses. Ned knelt down to inspect them closer; each were bright red with a sweet smell wafting towards him. The rest of the garden was made up of weeds and overgrown grass, it appeared that somehow the roses had managed to stay intact despite their lack of attention. 

Remembering his promise to Sansa, Ned fingered one of the rose's leaves thoughtfully, before picking it. So engrossed was he in the beauty of the rose that he did not hear the footsteps approaching him from behind. Suddenly a huge black shadow loomed over Ned. He froze.  
'What the hell are you doing', a voice rasped from behind Ned.  
Ned stayed completely still for a while, preparing himself for what was going to come. He turned around, staying low on the ground, rose still in hand. The man, supposedly the owner, was around seven foot with a huge, muscular build. One side of his face was covered in scars that looked like burns and his hair was shoulder length and ragged. He snarled down at Ned.

'Forgive me', Ned said. 'I was on my way to King's Landing when my men and I got caught in the rain. We sought shelter in the forest but got separated. I found myself at this house and fed myself. I apologise profusely.'  
'And how do I know you're not just some outlaw scum come to steal from me', the man growled.  
Ned cleared his throat and straightened himself up. 'My name is Eddard Stark of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.'  
The other man said nothing for a while.  
'Stark, huh.' He muttered. 'You're a long way from home.'  
Ned kept silent, allowing the man to make up his mind about outcome of his situation.  
'But it appears you have stolen from me', he said, eyeing the rose in Ned's hand.  
Ned sighed. 'I confess, I did take the rose. It is for my daughter, Sansa, she's only a girl.'  
He looked up at the man who was staring, hard, back at him. For a moment Ned thought he saw a flicker of softness in the man's eyes, but it was only for a moment.  
The huge man turned away, holding his head as though in pain. 'Go.'  
Ned hesitated, confused, however the man said no more. Ned stood up hastily and stumbled back into the forest before the man changed his mind.


	2. What Lies Within

Sansa wandered through Winterfell on her way back from visiting The Library Tower. She held in her hand the book she'd been reading the previous week when her father left for King's Landing. Sansa looked up at the rookery, a slight frown on her face. Usually Ned would send them ravens to inform them on their journey's progress, but there had not been a single one. Ser Rodrik Cassel and a couple of bedraggled guards had stumbled into Winterfell the previous day, talking of haunted forests, wolves and a ferocious beast that lived there. But there was no sign of her father. She tried not to think about what might have happened to him as she walked back to her room, but it was hard not to. Sansa clutched her book tighter as frightening thoughts swarmed in her head. 

A hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder and Sansa whirled around, frightened. It was Joffrey Baratheon. Once upon a time Sansa had thought he was like a prince with his soft blond hair and blue eyes, but now she noticed the cruelty in those eyes and the menacing way in which he smiled at her. Sansa now saw him for what he was. 

'Where are you going, Sansa?'  
Sansa stiffened. She didn't like the way he said her name, it was too personal.  
'Back to my room', she said firmly, longing for the safety of her tower.  
Joffrey took a step closer. 'Can I come?' he said, grinning.  
Sansa felt a trickle of fear go down her spine at the thought of Joffrey in her room, it felt perverted. She snatched her shoulder away from him and, wide eyed, practically ran back to her room.

Once there, she slammed the door shut and fell to the floor. Every time she encountered Joffrey she felt like an utter fool for the feelings she had once harboured for him. As he was visiting Winterfell with his mother, Cersei, his constant presence was a reminder of her stupidity. Sansa felt tears welling up as she looked at her book lying on the floor next to her.   
'Maybe there's no such thing as true love.', she thought sadly, remembering how she'd once been so happy at the realisation that Joffrey matched her book's illustrations of a prince. But he was not kind and he was not gentle, he was the monster.

Sansa no longer felt like reading about knights in shining armour or roses so she went in search of her siblings.  
Out in the training yard she found Robb sword fighting with Arya and Sansa settled herself on the lower wall encircling the yard. Robb was strong and fearless as he lunged this way and that with his sword, but Arya was light and quick and she dodged his attacks easily. They were both laughing as Arya swerved to the right to avoid his blade and Robb grinned, tightening his attacks. 

Sansa turned away, sighing and looked out over the walls of Winterfell to the lands beyond. The sun was low in the sky and it cast the world in a golden glow. Sansa felt that usual pang of longing to be out there, out of these walls. She wanted to visit the hot spicy lands of Dorne, swim in the sparkling waters of Braavos and explore the bright and colourful markets of King's Landing. Sansa had read about these places in her books, but it was another thing entirely to see them with her own eyes. She sighed again, a sudden breeze catching her auburn hair, fluttering in the wind. 

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to Robb and Arya.   
'What is it, little sister?', Robb grinned. 'Afraid to hit me?'  
Arya smiled sweetly in response, continuing to dodge his attacks. 'I'm waiting'.  
Robb laughed. 'For what?'  
'For you to bleed out', Arya said simply.  
Robb stopped moving, a confused expression spreading on his face. And Arya struck. She spin, quickly, towards him and slashed him across the chest, beaming up at him.  
Robb raised an eyebrow. 'Foul play'.   
Arya laughed. 'You're just upset you lost!'  
Robb lowered his face for a few moments.. Arya's smile disappeared and she leant towards her brother.  
'Are you ok?' She asked tentatively.  
Suddenly Robb got up. 'REVENGE', he yelled, picking Arya up and spinning her around, tickling her waist. Arya shrieked with laughter, attempting to bite her brother's hands.   
Despite herself. Sansa found herself smiling at the two of them.

A loud blow of a horn cut through the air, echoing through the castle. The three siblings stopped what they were doing and stared at each other.  
'Father', they breathed, hardly daring to believe it. They ran off to the courtyard as they were joined by Jon, Rickon, Bran and Theon. They stared through the main gate, holding their breath.

Their father limped through the mist looking physically and mentally exhausted. Immediately, guards rushed to help their lord, but Ned waved them off. Sansa's mother came running out of the Sept and upon seeing Ned, stopped. She tried to regain her posture in front of their people but Sansa could see it was hard for her mother so restrain herself from wrapping her arms around her husband and crying into his arms. Catelyn, instead, walked quickly towards Ned and put her hand in his. Ned smiled faintly and said something in her ear. Catelyn nodded curtly.  
She faced Sansa and the others and gestured towards the Great Hall. They followed their parents in, eager to embrace their father and see that he was not hurt.   
Sansa could tell, however, that something was very wrong.

They all sat at the great table, watching Ned with anxious eyes. He had promised his men he would speak with them later, but his family came first. A serving girl came hurriedly into the room with a flagon of wine which Ned took thankfully. He took a few sips before beginning his story.

'I was lost out in the woods', he muttered, his eyes deep with remembrance. 'We were all scattered and I was alone. I found some footprints and so I followed them, thinking it was Ser Rodrik or one of the boys. They lead to an old, abandoned house.'

He was interrupted by Bran and Rickon gasping.  
'A witch', Rickon breathed.  
Ned gave a small laugh. 'No.' His smile died. 'I stayed there the night, the owner never appearing. The next morning he found me. He was huge; the biggest man I've ever seen-'. He stopped, thinking it best to omit how terrifying the man was, not wanting to scare his children. 'I thought he was going to kill me, but he let me go.' Ned looked up at Sansa. 'It was only when I mentioned you, Sansa, that he let me go.'

Sansa stared at her father in confusion, what could the man possibly know about Sansa? And why did he let her father go upon the mere mention of her?

Ned put his hand in his shirt and brought out a beautiful, red rose. Sansa gazed at it, but it only confused her further.

'The man allowed me to go, to give this to you', Ned said, deadpan, offering the rose to her.  
Sansa took it hesitantly, twirling it in her fingers.

'What does this mean Ned?' Catelyn asked, putting her hand on his arm.  
Ned shook his head in response.  
Jon spoke next. 'We should find this man and thank him for his kindness.'  
A queer look came over Ned's face. 'I think he wants to remain alone.'  
The children exchanged glances, unsure of the meaning of their father's words.   
Catelyn smiled. 'Well, we're just glad you're safe.' 

That night, Sansa lay in bed staring at the rose. She had put it on her dressing table in an elegant vase. The moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the rose.   
She sighed, admiring it's beauty. She had never seen a rose before, only drawings of them in her books. She got up and crossed to the window, looking out at the dark night sky.

He had given her a rose.   
Sansa tried to picture his face. Her father had said he was a big man so she saw him as muscular and tall, perhaps he was a little shy, hiding away in the forest like that. She smiled wistfully, perhaps he was what she had been searching for.   
'I wish I could meet him', she whispered.

A sudden dangerous thought entered her head, and Sansa turned to gaze at the rose once more. What if she went to find him?  
Sansa's heart began to beat fast as she thought of arriving at her prince's doorstep and her beauty taking his breath away. He would at once declare his love for her and she would accept graciously.

But a small part of her was afraid. She had never left the walls of Winterfell, what if she got lost along the way? And her family would miss her terribly. What if the man wasn't really a knight, but some hideous beast wanting to lure her to him?  
Sansa shook her head at that last thought. After all, what kind of beast grew roses?

Trembling with anxiety and excitement, Sansa set about writing a note for her family telling them of her whereabouts. She dressed in her favourite ivy coloured dress, donned her cloak and put on her boots. She grabbed the rose, tucking it in her dress, its sweet smell whispering to her of love and her mysterious knight. 

The gods seemed to be looking on Sansa kindly as she found many of the guards had fallen asleep, empty bottles littered at their feet. She wrapped her cloak around her tightly as she went outside, the cold air biting at her exposed skin. She went to the stable and begun gathering her horse's tac. The horse whinnied quietly at the sight of Sansa but Sansa shushed her and mounted.

Aware of every noise her horse made on the ground, they walked to the main gate where her father had stumbled in earlier that day. Sansa looked up at Winterfell one last time; illuminated in the moonlight it seemed peaceful. But Sansa had to go. With a slight pang of guilt, she urged her horse into a gallop down the King's Road. Filling her head with thoughts of her prince and touching the rose gently, she pushed aside the warning bells going off in her head and the growing sense of guilt. 

Would he have black hair or brown? She knew he would not treat her as Joffrey had and would shower her with gifts and finery. He had treated her father kindly and given him a rose to give to Sansa, he must truly be a gentle person. Sansa's heart fluttered as she dreamed of all that would follow.

As well as finding her knight, Sansa was also happy to be outside of Winterfell. She was finally off on her own adventure instead of just reading about them in books.   
The night sky was dark, stars glowing off in the distance and the moon shone down on her, guiding the way. 

Before long, Sansa spied a dark forest looming in the distance. The rain had long since washed her father's men's tracks away, but Sansa knew it was the right forest. It gave her the same feeling she got when thinking of her knight; wonder, yet danger too. As though she shouldn't be there.  
But she continued on her way. As Sansa neared the trees, her horse shied away from the darkness within, giving Sansa goosebumps. Suddenly this seemed like a bad idea. She didn't know where he lived anyway, what if she grew hungry and starved? Or outlaws found her before her knight did?  
Her heart began to thump as she thought of the dark consequences of her actions. Desperate to find him, Sansa urged her horse into the forest. If she could just find him, she was sure she would be safe. So why did Sansa have this deep sense of dread? Trying not to think about it, she continued through the trees, making sure her horse trod carefully around the upturned roots and plants.   
An owl hooted from nearby and Sansa heard a twig snap behind her.   
Panic beginning to build inside her, she urged her horse into a trot. All around her, strange noises began to grow louder and she got the feeling that she was being watched.   
Petrified, she allowed her horse to break into a canter. They crashed through the undergrowth, desperate to leave the terrifying forest behind her and find her knight. Branches snagged her hair and cut her arms but she didn't look back.

And all too soon she found the house. She stared up at it, confused. It was nothing like how she had imagined. It looked haunted; the windows dark and broken, there was no light inside and plants had grown unruly around the house, seeming to form some kind of barrier between the house and the rest of the world. Again, Sansa wondered whether she had made a terrible mistake. Perhaps he was not going to be a handsome knight, perhaps there was no man at all and her father had simply been hallucinating from fatigue. But more than that, Sansa felt like this should be the house of the baddie. It warned of unhappy endings and danger, of misery and despair. Once more, Sansa got the powerful feeling that she should not be there.

Sansa was all but ready to turn back around and head for home until she spied something in amongst the weeds and nettles. A rose.   
She dismounted and walked towards it, transfixed. It seemed to glow in the moonlight and she reached out, touching it gently. She leaned forward and inhaled its sweet scent. All thoughts of danger melted away at the sight of the rose. 

A twig snapped to the side of Sansa. She froze and held her breath. Realising who it must be, she took a deep breath and brushed a lock of hair from her face, and looked up. 

But who she saw was no knight. He was not a hero and he was not her saviour. Sansa's body crumbled in fear and she fell to the ground in shock.   
The man was huge, towering over her. He was heavily built and his huge arms stayed by his sides but his hands clenched into fists. Sansa recoiled at the gesture but, bravely, looked at his face. He had thin bedraggled hair which hung around his face. One side was covered in scars, his skin raw and blotched. But what scared Sansa most was the ferocious look in his eyes as he looked down at her.  
Sansa knew from her books that this was the face of a monster.

She screamed and began to scramble backwards, trying to get away from him.   
'You shouldn't be here', he said, his voice rasping.  
She felt herself trembling and attempted to push herself to her feet but she was possessed by fear. She began to crawl away from the house until she felt a sharp force on her arm as she was yanked up onto her feet.  
'Are you mad?' The man growled. 'You'll get eaten alive in those woods'.  
Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look at the man but not wanting to look into the darkness either. The man did nothing for a while, simply holding onto Sansa's arm.   
Wordless, he dragged her into his house. Sansa tried to scream but her voice could not be found. She tried to pull herself free but his grip was like an iron vice. The house was pitch black and deathly cold.   
'We've got company', the man said to the darkness. Sansa looked at him in fear, was he mad as well as violent?  
Suddenly out of the gloom appeared three sets of eyes. Sansa watched as they became three figures; two men and a woman. They stared at her, bewildered as though they hadn't seen another human for years. The man threw Sansa forward at the three people who managed to stop her from falling to the ground.  
'See that she is looked after', The man said, disappearing into the darkness. 'And that she does not escape.'

Sansa's eyes widened at his last comment and she felt hot, unbidden tears rolling down her cheeks at the prospect of staying here. The woman gasped.  
'Don't cry, deary, he doesn't mean you're our.. prisoner.' She said, putting her arms around Sansa's shoulders. The comforting gesture made Sansa look up at the woman. She was rather large and had rosy cheeks with kind expression on her face. 'My name is Potts.'   
Sansa stared up at her, unsure of how to react. 'It feels like I am your prisoner', she said bitterly.  
Potts looked around desperately at the two men. 'No, you're not a prisoner, you're our... our....'  
'You're our guest', said one of the men. Sansa looked at him; he was tall and thin with a wide smile on his face. He did a sweeping bow. 'I am Lumiere and it is a pleasure.'  
Sansa was startled by his politeness and nodded her head. Lumiere gestured to the other man.   
'This is Cogsworth.' Cogsworth did not seem as friendly as the other two, simply sniffing in response. 'And together, we are sworn to serve House Clegane, or what's left of it.'  
The three of them exchanged sad glances before turning to Sansa once more.  
'We are very happy to have you with us!' Lumiere said, clapping his hands together.  
Potts took her by the arm. 'We are sure you'll be very happy here. Come, let us show you to your room.'

As Sansa was guided out of the room, she was struck by the oddity of their situation, but the servants seemed pleasant enough and so long as their master did not make another appearance, Sansa decided she would stay there until she could find a way to escape.


	3. The Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made it so that Gregor Clegane has replaced his brother in the role of Joffrey Baratheon's guard given that Sandor wouldn't have met Joffrey before, due to the timeline of this story.

Ned ran a hand through his hair as he stared down at Sansa’s note. He leaned against the desk, attempting to process what had happened.   
Sansa was with him. Sansa had willingly gone to that man’s house, believing him to be her knight in shining armour.  
“This is my fault,” Ned muttered.   
Ned wished he had described the full extent of the danger he had found himself in on that night to his family rather than skirting round the details. It would have saved Sansa from doing something like this.   
When he thought of the look of ferocity on that man’s face and the fact that he could be now looking at Sansa with those same fiery eyes made Ned’s blood run cold. Upon first reading the note, Ned had been overcome with the urge to grab his sword and horse and kill the man who held his sweet and innocent daughter prisoner, but remembering the man’s size Ned knew he couldn’t fight him alone. Of course he had knights and loyal men who would storm the house, but many of them had heard the stories of the ferocious beast that haunted the forest and refused to go anywhere near it. Besides, there was no guarantee they would even find the house in that twisted forest.  
But he needed to get his little girl back.   
Ned needed someone strong and fearless, someone who knew the forest and could be depended on to get the job done.  
Suddenly Ned knew. “Fight fire with fire,” he whispered. He knew where to go.  
The walk to the tavern was a short one, being just outside of Winterfell in the winter town. Ned shrouded himself in a cloak, his hood concealing his face. He was not proud of what he was about to do and he did not want his men to see him doing it, but it was for Sansa. Ned had decided not to reveal Sansa’s disappearance to his family, not wanting them to worry, and had simply told them that he had allowed her to visit King’s Landing for a couple of weeks alone for personal growth.   
Catelyn had looked at him with a measured gaze as he told her this, as though seeing through his lies, but she trusted her husband and so smiled slightly, keeping her doubts to herself.  
Despite the cold and windy night, winter town was full of life; lights shone bright through windows, making the puddles on the ground light up and the sound of laughter could be heard through every doorway. Eventually Ned found the place he was looking for; the Smoking Log.   
Ned gazed up at the tavern’s sign flapping slightly in the chilled air with a slight frown. He did not want to do this, he did not want to do this at all, but he had to.  
“For Sansa,” he repeated, stepping into the tavern.  
He was immediately hit by the smell of beer and freshly cooked bread. Cheery serving girls giggled as drunken men grinned up at them from huge tankards of ale. The tavern was completely packed but one of the men he sought was not hard to spot. Keeping his face hidden, Ned approached the two of them.  
Joffrey Baratheon was eternally trying to worm his way out of his mother’s clasp, so this spot seemed like a likely haunt, being out of Winterfell and away from his mother’s eyes.   
The boy was alone except for his guard and for that Ned was grateful.   
What Ned didn’t know was that only moments ago Joffrey had been threatening to frighten Sansa into obeying him as he believed she should. Joffrey had muttered how his crossbow could be ‘an effective weapon of persuasion’.   
Ned approached the boy’s table, feeling anxious; if this plan failed he had no other alternative.  
Ned lowered his hood slightly so the boy would recognise him, “Joffrey”.  
The boy looked up, a flash of fear appeared in his eyes, wondering if Ned was here to scold him for being outside of Winterfell, but his expression quickly became one of contempt as though Ned were some lowly beggar asking for bread.  
Ned clenched and unclenched his hand, “May I have a seat?”  
Joffrey sniffed but nodded stiffly. Ned drew up a chair facing the young prince and his guard.  
He leaned forward, unsure of how to word what he was about to say.   
“I need your help,” Ned muttered. “It’s Sansa.”  
Joffrey raised an eyebrow, “Go on.”  
“Well, more accurately, I need your guard’s help,” Ned admitted, nodding at the man sitting to Joffrey’s right. If the guard took any interest in Ned he did not show it, merely continuing to stare forward into the distance. The man was well over seven foot, a huge bulking man with a cold, stone face. His gaze was said to strike fear in men’s hearts and make you wish to take your own life just so you wouldn’t have to face his sword.  
Ned continued, “Sansa has been... taken by a man. Well, I believe he is a man but nevertheless he is a ferocious monster and I cannot hope to take him down. I was hoping, given your... bond with Sansa that you might allow Ser Gregor to lead a charge against the man and bring her back.”  
Ned hated this. He knew of Gregor Clegane’s monstrous crimes, but to fight a monster you need a monster and with people around Ned could hardly believe he would harm Sansa. As long as they weren’t alone. But it was not only that, intrusting his daughter’s life into the hands of a boy made Ned feel weak, like he couldn’t even take care of his own family. However, if it meant saving Sansa’s life then Ned would gladly face the consequences.   
Ned thought back to that flicker of softness that had appeared in that beast’s eyes and the beautiful rose and hoped there was enough compassion left in that man’s heart for him to leave Sansa unharmed.   
He looked up anxiously at Joffrey, but the boy did something that Ned had not been expecting.   
He laughed.  
“Maybe that will make her sorry for rejecting my... affections,” Joffrey sniggered.   
Ned felt as though he had been slapped in the face. His daughter’s life was in jeopardy and all Joffrey did was laugh? He stared back at the boy, his mouth hanging open slightly. With his blonde hair and blue eyes, Joffrey seemed the innocent boy, but now Ned saw a menacing glint in those eyes that he had not seen before.   
Joffrey nudged Ser Gregor, “Isn’t it funny, Gregor?” But still the guard did nothing, which seemed to irritate Joffrey. He turned back to Ned. “I can’t help you there, I’m sorry but the girl is as good as dead”.   
Ned felt anger beginning to build up inside of him. He clenched his fists and stood up suddenly, giving Joffrey one last glare before walking away.   
Joffrey sat back in his chair, “Perhaps that beast will beat some obedience into that little whore,” he sighed.  
Ned stood outside the tavern as the rain began to pour. He stared into his reflection in a puddle, its reflection rippling from fear to determination.  
He would rescue Sansa alone.


	4. Fire

It was cold.  
Why was it always so cold here?  
Sansa sat on the floor of her room, huddled in a blanket. She had been here for over a week now yet she refused to leave her room. The servants would bring her food every day and leave it at her door; at first Sansa had wanted to ignore it but her hunger had become so intense that she had allowed herself to wolf down just a tiny amount of the meals. Once, the beast had even come to her door, upon hearing that she was not eating. He had hammered on the door and yelled at her for about an hour before giving up and growling, “Fine, stay in your cage!” Before storming off. Sansa had been so terrified she had begun to feel hot tears prickling her eyes but she had managed to hold them back.  
Sansa stared longingly out of the windows of her room at the night sky, wishing to feel the cool breeze on her face and smell the pine and moss of the forest. Her room was small and stuffy but sufficient; the servants had cleaned it as best they could so it wasn’t so bad.  
Despite Sansa’s circumstances she had grown fond of the three of them. Lumiere and Cogsworth were constantly bickering; it reminded her of herself and her sister sometimes which made her sad and miss her family. Potts was always gentle and kind to her which made Sansa feel slightly more comfortable.  
Sansa reflected on her time here as rain began to patter against the windows, until there was a brisk knock at the door. Sansa felt herself tense, thinking it was the beast, but realising at the sound of the knock that it was just the servants.  
“Come in,” she said, meekly.   
Lumiere strode in confidently followed by Cogsworth and Potts. Lumiere stood looking down at Sansa, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips.  
“Now this simply won’t do, my dear,” he said.   
Sansa frowned up at him.  
“You can’t sit in your room all day long!”  
Sansa pouted, “What else is there to do here.”  
Lumiere grinned and stretched his hand out to her, “We shall give you a guided tour!”  
Sansa sighed; it would give her something to do she supposed. Rolling her eyes slightly, she took Lumiere’s hand and stood up. Potts and Cogsworth smiled at her, gesturing for her to follow them.  
As they walked down the dark, gloomy corridors of the house, Sansa was struck by how lonely it was, as though all the life had gone out of the place leaving it a mere empty shell. She stared at the scarce furniture, nervously, noticing how a lot of it had been damaged in some way, as though they had been thrown around by someone in a fit of rage.  
Although she was supposed to be having a guided tour, her guides seemed awfully quiet, as though realising that there was not much to say about the odd piece of damaged furniture or broken glass. But there was something else about their glances around the rooms, as though each of them were recalling a painful memory.  
Sansa attempted to break the uncomfortable silence, “Why is it so cold in this house?”  
The others turned around suddenly to face Sansa before exchanging wary glances and continuing to walk.  
“Well,” Cogsworth began, laughing nervously. “We’ve all lived here a long time so I suppose we’re used to the temperature”.  
Sansa stared at him, “How have you all managed to live for so long here with that... creature?”  
Potts looked at her sadly, “He’s not as bad as you think, Sansa. He’s had some... difficulties in the past”.  
“The scars?” Sansa whispered.  
Potts nodded warily, “When he was little he was violently attacked by his older brother and it left him very bitter and angry. It’s something he’s had to live with and it has not been easy, but he’s a good person... deep down.”  
Sansa frowned, unconvinced, “But I don’t even know his name”.  
Lumiere smiled at her, “Sandor. Sandor Clegane”.  
For some reason, Sansa felt a little better knowing his name; it seemed to make him a little more human in her eyes.  
At that point they had reached the largest room in the house; a huge dining hall. The room had the same sense of decay and damage as the rest of the house yet it seemed to whisper of somewhere that once retained a certain warmth and friendly atmosphere.  
Sansa found a little part of herself wondering what it must be like to hold a feast here, to have the room full to the brim with people laughing, dancing and eating, to have sweet music echoing throughout the place. A sad smile touched her face before she began to walk around the room. Suddenly her stomach gave a huge growl. She blushed furiously while the other three laughed warmly.  
“I’ll fetch us something to eat,” Potts said, smiling and walking into the adjoining kitchen. “Cogsworth, Lumiere, fetch the plates if you would.”   
As they left the room, Sansa found a large marble fireplace near the door which she bent down to inspect.   
“That’s what this place needs,” she breathed, a cloud of dust showering onto the floor from where she touched the surface.   
Once she had started the fire, Sansa smiled proudly, allowing warmth to spread throughout her body as she held her hands out to the flames. She watched as yellow light began to flicker onto the walls, brightening the room immediately.  
Suddenly there came a loud bang from upstairs and footsteps thundering down the stairs. Sansa felt a jolt of terror strike her body as Sandor slammed the dining hall’s doors open. He searched the room, eyes ablaze, until they landed on Sansa.   
He stormed towards her, “PUT IT OUT”, he roared.  
Sansa shrieked and cowered against the wall, terrified.  
Sandor turned towards the windows and yanked the curtains off their rails. While he was distracted, Sansa’s instincts kicked in.  
‘Run,’ she thought. Sansa scrambled off the floor and without a backward glance, flew from the room, her auburn hair streaming behind her. She didn’t bother to so much as look at the servants in the kitchen but bolted straight for the front door.  
Sansa’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the forest after the fire, but she began to run anyway, tearing off through the trees. She didn’t know where she was going, or what she was going to do, all she knew was that she had to get away from that house and away from that beast.  
Branches tore at her hair and dress but she continued running. She leapt over rocks and tumbled down steep slopes, falling to the ground at the bottom. Mud covered her hands and face and she was already beginning to feel exhausted. Feeling her heart hammering against her chest, Sansa stopped for a moment to catch her breath.   
Sansa looked around at the dark forest and listened out for noises. And that’s when she heard them, a group of male voices laughing and shouting. She froze. If they found her she knew what would happen. Fear trickled down her spine at the thought and she knelt down on the wet ground.  
It was no use, the voices were getting louder and louder and she knew they would soon be upon her.  
Sansa glanced up at the group of men as they formed a circle around her. There were four of them and she knew she didn’t stand a chance.   
One of them whistled at the sight of her, “Looks like we’ve found ourselves a little treat”.  
As Sansa sat there, cradling her knees and shaking, she was struck by how surreal it all was. Not long ago she was sat by a warm fire with friends close by and now this was the end. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut to stop her tears from falling, not wanting to show how vulnerable she felt. Sansa tugged at the sides of her dress, willing it to cover more of her fragile body, feeling the men’s stares on her exposed skin. She began to sob as she heard their footsteps edging forward.  
Suddenly there came the distant sound of something crashing towards them, making the men stop in their tracks. They stared, anxiously, at the direction of the noise, grabbing what little weaponry they had tightly in hand. Trees parted as Sansa saw Sandor colliding with the man nearest to him. Without hesitation he slit the man’s throat, a spray of blood splattering onto Sandor’s chest. He whirled around, stabbing the next in the chest before he could so much as raise his knife. But as Sandor grabbed the third man, the other one stabbed Sandor deep into his shoulder. Sandor roared in pain but it turned to rage in an instant and he grabbed the two of them, smashing their heads together and allowing them to fall to the ground, dead.  
Sandor slumped to the ground, panting, covered in blood, his huge chest heaving. Lifting his head up with great effort, he gazed at Sansa for a moment before falling to the ground.   
Sansa shrieked and scrambled towards him.   
There was so much blood.  
Despite what she had thought of Sandor prior to that moment, Sansa felt a stab of fear go through her heart as a great pool of blood seeped onto the ground from Sandor’s shoulder. She felt her lip begin to tremble as she dragged his upper body onto her lap as she attempted to staunch the bleeding. Sansa looked around desperately, feeling the tears begin to gush uncontrollably down her cheeks.  
“Please,” she croaked, looking down at Sandor’s limp body.  
He had saved her life and Sansa did not want him to die. In that moment he looked so human, so vulnerable that it broke her heart. She wanted to thank him. She prayed to the old gods and the new to save him.  
Sansa heard voices calling out through the trees and she shot up, holding her breath. She stiffened, fearing it was more outlaws but she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Potts, Lumiere and Cogsworth running towards them.  
They knelt down beside Sansa, wide eyed as they saw the blood.  
“W-We have to get him back to the house,” Sansa whimpered.   
They three of them seemed to have forgotten how to speak but they nodded, eyes full of fear. They managed to drag Sandor through the forest back to the house, leaving a trail of dark, red blood behind.  
Sansa just hoped they were not too late.


	5. Dancing in the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tale as old as time..

Sandor woke up bleary eyed, groggy with pain. He groaned as his shoulder throbbed with pain. Sandor kept his eyes closed for a while, gritting his teeth, trying to focus on something else. Sandor remembered the fire. He remembered the flames, flickering, dancing, dangerous. Sandor realised it was slightly foolish, but since that day he hadn’t allowed any fire in his house. The mere sight of those familiar flames made panic wash over his body and he remembered the blood curdling screams that were strangled from his mouth as the smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Sandor squeezed his eyes tightly together. He remembered the girl and those men edging towards her like a lamb surrounded by a pack of wolves. A surge of anger had gone through him at the sight and all he could think about was killing those men. Killing wasn’t a big deal for him but a great sense of relief had come over him at the sight of their dead bodies, perhaps it was knowing the girl was no longer in danger.

But not for the first time, Sandor wondered why she was so very important to him. He cared that she hadn’t been eating, he cared that she had been in danger. Why was that? Sandor wasn’t the kind of man to build up human connections; his revolved his life around drink and his wish for his brother’s head. But ever since that girl had come into his house with nothing but a rose, he had felt on edge, nervous. 

Sandor frowned and opened his eyes, not wanting to linger on thoughts of her. He looked around the room and realised he was lying on his bed. The familiar dark walls and furniture gave him some comfort after the confusion he’d been feeling. Sandor sat up, wincing at the pain and he heard a feminine squeal next to him. He whirled around, bewildered.

The girl was sat next to him, a look of concern etched on her face, her blue eyes wide. 

“Y-You shouldn’t move too much,” she squeaked. “You haven’t healed fully yet”.

Sandor frowned, “Why do you care?”

Her face flushed crimson and she looked down at her lap, “Because you saved my life.” She began fiddling with the sleeve of her dress. “Thank you, S-Sandor.”

Sandor felt his heart rate quickening slightly. When was the last time someone had used his name? The only people he had seen for years were the servants and they called him ‘m’lord’. 

He rubbed the back of his head and averted his gaze, “You’re welcome... Sansa.”

Sansa looked up at him and, going an even darker shade of red, smiled up at him. She rearranged herself next to him and grabbed a role of bandage from the table beside his bed. 

“I need to change your dressings,” she said.

Sandor felt uncomfortable, he hated the thought of seeming weak. 

“It’s fine,” he grunted. 

Sansa looked shocked, “No, it will get infected!” She grabbed his arm with both hands, looking up at him pleadingly. Suddenly she looked shocked at touching him and shot backwards. 

Sandor tried to stop himself from laughing but he couldn’t. He chuckled, watching with amusement at the look of embarrassment on Sansa’s face. 

“Just let me do this,” She said, hurriedly. 

Sandor threw his hands up in surrender and Sansa began to unwind the bandage from his shoulder. Next she took a cloth and dipped it into a basin of water on the table where she had gotten the bandage and Sandor found himself wondering how many times had she done this for him.

As Sansa’s hands touched the bare skin of his shoulder, Sandor felt goose bumps appear on his arms and hoped Sansa wouldn’t notice. She didn’t seem to, the deep blush fading from her cheeks as she frowned slightly in concentration, washing his wound and bandaging him up. 

“You know,” Sansa began, smiling. “After you rescued me, a small part of me kept thinking how it was like in my books when the knight saves the princess from danger,” she giggled and blushed slightly, as if embarrassed at the thought.

Sandor looked away, remembering how he had heard that his brother had been knighted by the then king, Rhaeger Targaryen. He felt bile in his mouth as he thought of all the innocent people Gregor had killed, all the women he had raped, all the pain he had caused and the fact that he had been knighted even with such disgusting crimes hanging over his head. 

“I’m no knight,” Sandor growled. “There are no knights, girl, not like the ones in your stories, and the sooner you learn that lesson the better.”

Sansa grew silent at that, looking down at her lap sadly, and Sandor suddenly felt guilty. 

When was the last time he had felt guilty?

Sandor found himself feeling anxious to cheer Sansa up and suddenly he knew how.

He cleared his throat, “So you like to read, huh?” 

Sansa looked up slowly and nodded, smiling slightly.

Sandor grinned and stood up, cursing inward as pain rippled through his shoulder, “Follow me.”

Sansa looked hesitant for a moment, whether it was from the look of pain on his face or the fact that Sandor was taking her somewhere, he could not say. But she seemed to find logic in the corner of her mind and followed him out of the room. 

The two of them walked through the house and Sandor noticed how light poured through the windows, a rare sight given the thickness of the forest’s canopy; it was not often that the house appeared this cheery. They walked up a flight of stairs and Sandor stopped outside the door of the third floor. He found himself wondering when the last time he used this room was. 

Yanking the door handle up through years of rust, Sandor opened the door for Sansa and followed her in. He watched her expression as she looked around the room, her mouth gaping open in amazement. The walls were completely covered with rows and rows of books and there were bookshelves in between, forming a maze. Light filtered through the large windows showing the dust covering the floor and books but Sansa didn’t seem to notice. She walked forward slowly, taking it all in. She inspected every row of books, beaming as she did so. Sandor leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, watching Sansa with a small smile. Whilst he didn’t read the books or take any interest in them, the servants had thought it a good idea given his years in isolation. But he enjoyed watching Sansa as she began to lose herself in the labyrinth of fairytales and dragons, of mysteries and romance. 

“Can I borrow some of these?” Sansa yelled from somewhere behind the bookshelves.

“Sure,” Sandor called back and watched with amusement as he saw books beginning to disappear from the shelves as Sansa pulled them off from behind. He heard the pattering of her feet on the marble floor and once in a while saw a flash of her red hair. 

Sandor found himself picturing her grinning as she piled up the books she wished to read and found himself smiling at the thought. He cleared his throat and tried to think of other things; he didn’t want to become too involved with the girl, yet at the same time he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head.

He heard a high pitched shriek followed by the sound of dozens of books falling to the ground. 

Sandor took a step forward, “You alright?” He called.

“Yes!” Sansa replied. She came round the corner of a bookshelf and into view carrying a mountain of books so high he could only see the top of her head.

“Whoa, easy, easy,” Sandor laughed, grabbing a load of them. 

Sansa giggled breathlessly, “It’s incredible!”

Sandor raised his eyebrows, wondering how a load of paper could be incredible, but smiled and followed her back to her room to put the books down. Sansa chatted as they walked, talking of her favourite books and the ones she thought he might like. It seemed to Sandor that the books she liked the most were fairytales about handsome knights and beautiful princesses and wondered how she saw him. Everyone he had met since that day all those years ago had called him a monster and shunned him. Sandor made no attempt to be friendly with anyone, seeing it as a waste of his time and after a while he came to enjoy the isolation. 

So why was this girl having such an effect on him? Sure, she was pretty but it was more than that; Sandor enjoyed being in her company and seeing her smile up at him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t had much human contact in the last few years and being with a pretty girl was interesting. Sandor decided it was that, but something nagged at the edge of his mind telling him it was something more, but he ignored it. 

Once back in her room, Sansa plopped down onto the bed, setting the books out in front of her thoughtfully as though deciding which to read first. Sandor placed the books next to her and drew back, clenching and unclenching his hands nervously. 

“Well,” he began. “Enjoy your books.”

Sansa beamed up at him, “I will!” 

Sandor inclined his head and turned to leave.

“Oh and... Sandor,”

He turned back, eyebrows raised.

Sansa blushed and fiddled with a lock of her hair, “thank you for the books.”

Sandor watched the pink spread cross her pale cheeks and he nodded curtly, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. He leant against it and let out a shaky breath. 

“That girl,” he muttered, striding to his room.

That evening, Sandor stood leaning his forehead against the cool window in the dining hall, watching the branches wave in the breeze. Moonlight spilled through it, allowing silver light to envelope the room. Somewhere above him, Sandor could hear Lumiere practicing on his harp. Whilst Sandor would not admit it out loud, the sound soothed him and set his mind at ease. He closed his eyes and let the sweet sound and the cool window on his forehead send him into a state of peace, which was rare for Sandor, especially with Sansa under the same roof as him. 

At that moment he heard a faint knock at the door and he looked up, surprised, as Sansa pocked her head round the door. She smiled shyly at him and stepped into the room. Sandor’s mouth opened slightly at the sight of her. She had her long hair tied back in a loose plait and she wore a white nightgown which fell to her ankles, her feet bare.  
Hands behind her back, she came to stand next to him by the window and looked out at the moon. 

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, the stars reflected in her eyes.

Sandor looked down at her, saying nothing.

She looked up at the ceiling, following the sound of the harp, “who’s playing that?”

“Lumiere”.  
Sansa closed her eyes, smiling, allowing Sandor to look at her without being noticed. He observed how dark and long her eyelashes were and how she had faint freckles sprinkled across her cheeks like cinnamon. 

Suddenly she opened her eyes and walked backwards a little, offering out her hand. Sandor stared at it, bewildered. Sansa laughed, rolling her eyes and grabbed his hand. Sandor felt his heart give a jolt at the gesture and in a reflex, snatched his hand away. Sansa’s laughter died and she looked slightly wounded, drawing her hands to her chest and looked away, embarrassed. 

Sandor immediately felt a pang of guilt as he had earlier with his comment about her knights and knew in that moment that he would give anything to see her smiling again.   
He groaned and offered his hand to her, feeling his body drowning in heat. She looked up at him and beamed, taking his hand hesitantly. She stepped towards him and, looking away shyly, placed her other hand on his shoulder, stretching up to do so. Sandor laughed and, trying not to think too much of it, hoisted her onto his feet so they were more similar in height. He then placed his other hand on her waist, feeling her skin underneath her light dress.   
Suddenly both feeling extremely self-conscious and nervous, they looked away from each other. Sandor took a deep breath and began to move around the room, watching as Sansa’s white dress fluttered behind her. 

A few times Sandor lost his footing and Sansa fell off his feet but they both laughed until they were breathless, regaining their stance. After a while the embarrassment fell away and it felt natural to be in each other’s arms. Sandor lifted Sansa up into the air suddenly and she shrieked with laughter as he swung her around.   
Sansa giggled softly and leaned into him, his chin just resting on the top of her head. Ignoring all the reasons why he shouldn’t react, he leaned into her hair. She smelt of old paper and roses which made Sandor smile, swaying in time to the music of the harp.   
Time crept into the early hours of the morning as the two of them danced in the moonlight and it took a while for Sandor to realise that Sansa had gone limp. He chuckled softly as he realised she had fallen asleep in his arms. Without another thought, Sandor hooked one arm under her knees and kept the other on her waist. He carried her through the dark house, enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms. He shouldered his way through the crack in her door and laughed quietly at the sight of her bed; it was covered in open books with just a small space where she had obviously sat reading. Gently he laid her on the bed and tucked her under the duvet. She turned to her side in her sleep, breathing softly. Sandor cleared a small space beside her and sat down, watching her with a gentle expression. Very carefully he reached out and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.   
His attention was drawn to the open book on her other side which seemed to be the one she had been reading most recently. Whilst one page was thick with text, the opposite had simply the illustration of a red rose, like the one she had that day. The sight of it should have made him angry, being the cause of her finding him and the false expectations she had had of him. But instead, he found his heart being filled with affection. He thought back to the first time he had ever seen Sansa as she had leant down, gently holding the rose with her elegant fingers, her auburn hair falling out from under her hood as she did so, a smile playing on her lips as she inhaled the sweet smell.  
He remembered that feeling of fear that had enveloped him at the thought of her being alone in that huge, dark forest. He hadn’t wanted her near him but he refused to leave her outside in the wilderness. Angry at being forced to make a decision, he had snapped at her. 

Now, the thought of being angry at her made him wince. Looking at the soft expression on Sansa’s face as she slept made him realise that he was probably beginning to have feelings for her. 

The thought made him tense and wish he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t want to have these feelings, he didn’t want to feel so vulnerable and weak. After all, if this was one of Sansa’s books she would be the graceful princess and he the hideous beast. That thought made his stomach churn; he could take it from other people, strangers, but now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope if Sansa ever ran from him. 

As he gazed at her sleeping face, a wave of calm washed over Sandor as he realised that this was Sansa. She was not a princess and they didn’t live in a fairytale land. He was no expert in emotions but he was sure that she was beginning to feel something for him too. The thought gave way to a tiny piece of hope in his mind and he smiled, relaxing.  
Sandor sighed. He would not resist. Despite his doubts, he wanted to be with her and he allowed that feeling to consume him, body and soul. He saw Sansa leaning into the rose’s velvet petals, he saw Sansa’s shocked expression as she saw him for the first time, he saw Sansa curled up by the fire, he saw Sansa shaking on the forest floor, he saw Sansa nursing his wounds, he saw Sansa twirling through a labyrinth of books, he saw Sansa blushing, he saw Sansa laughing in his arms, he saw Sansa asleep beside him. 

Very slowly, holding his breath, Sandor leaned over her and gently kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight, Sansa,” he whispered.


	6. Honey and Red Berries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't sleep so here's the next chapter! Thank you for all the kind feedback I've been getting, it really means a lot :D

Sandor tapped his foot nervously against the floor as he sat at the kitchen table, holding his head in his hands.

Potts chuckled. “She’ll be down soon, I’m sure.”

Sandor glared at her. “I’m not waiting for her,” he growled.

But despite his statement, Sandor had found himself wanting to be around when Sansa came down to break her fast; he wanted to see her.  
All night his thoughts had been full of Sansa’s blushing smile and her long, auburn hair. Sandor had thought of a lot of things that night, mulling them over in his mind. He weighed up the advantages and disadvantages of telling Sansa his feelings but he hadn’t reached a decision. Sandor was deathly afraid of scaring her or making her dislike him, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to hold her close. He had been unable to sleep so he came down early for food, trying to keep his mind off her. 

Sandor shook his head. “I’m going to get her,” he muttered, rising from his chair. Potts laughed but didn’t stop him. Sandor climbed the stairs, two at a time, wondering if she was still asleep; lost in a sea of dreams. He wondered fleetingly whether she was dreaming of him, but cursed himself for even thinking that. For now he was keeping his feelings to himself. 

Sandor stood outside her room, knocked on the door and waited several minutes, but there was no reply. Sandor felt his heart beginning to quicken as he knocked again, louder. Still no answer. Beginning to feel panic rising inside his body he pounded on the door but still she did not answer. 

“Sansa?” He called, his voice breaking slightly. 

A million thoughts raced through his mind; what if he had made her uncomfortable last night? What if she hated him? What if she had run away?

That last thought made his eyes widen with fear and, taking a deep breath, opened the door. His eyes darted to the bed. 

No books. No Sansa. 

Sandor stumbled backwards slightly, running his hand through his hair.

She was gone.

Sandor fell to the ground, feeling his body shaking. Sansa was gone. Sansa had left. She had packed up her belongings and run back home. His little bird had flown away.  
Sandor felt hot tears beginning to fall but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. 

He sat there on the ground for some time before walking to her window and looking out across the forest, searching for Winterfell in the distance. He observed the huge castle with a bitter expression, feeling as though it had stolen her away. But the reality was, Sandor realised, that she had never belonged here in the first place. Not with him. She deserved a good man who wouldn’t yell at her or look so hideous. 

Lowering his eyes to the back of his garden he eyed the roses with hatred. 

He shouldn’t have even let her in.

Suddenly a flash of red caught his attention near the flowers and his mouth dropped open. 

Without thinking, Sandor ran out of the room, tore through the house, leaping down the stairs and out of the front door. 

He peeked round the side of the house, barely daring to look for fear he was wrong.

But there she was.

Sansa had her back to him; she wore her green dress and was sitting by the roses, watering them from a small bucket. She was singing softly to herself as she went about her work, occasionally leaning forward to smell the flowers.

Sandor wasn’t sure how long he watched her for, but without being able to stop himself, he walked towards her silently and dropped to his knees behind her. Sansa stopped singing at the noise and turned around slightly but Sandor leaned forward and wrapped his arms round her silently, stopping her from moving. 

“Sandor?” She asked, uncertainly. 

But he didn’t reply, simply allowing his shaky breaths to calm and his tears to stop, feeling her delicate body in his arms, and breathing in the sweet smell of her hair. Sansa sat still, letting him recover.

“Sorry,” he replied quietly. 

“It’s ok,” she whispered. 

Sandor let her go and gazed at her face. Feeling light and carefree with relief, he reached his hand out and stroked her smooth cheek. Sansa blushed slightly and smiled up at him.

Suddenly Sansa’s stomach growled loudly, making her face flush bright crimson.

Sandor laughed. “Hungry?”

She nodded, embarrassed.

They walked back to the house and sat down at the table next to each other. Potts laid a plate of warm toast and honey in front of Sansa, before leaving the room, and Sansa grinned at the meal before her.

Now that Sandor was sure Sansa was really here and wasn’t going to leave, he became very aware of her, as though in awe of her presence. He observed her every smile, every noise and every movement. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Sandor watched as Sansa ate the toast, rather messily, and licked the honey off her fingers, getting some on her cheek. Sandor chuckled at the sight.  
Sansa pouted at him. “Why are you laughing?”

He grinned, resting his head in his hand. “I didn’t think you would be but... you’re a messy eater.”

Sansa flushed. “I am not!” 

Still feeling drunk from relief and happiness, Sandor reached forward and swiped the honey off her cheek, popping it in his mouth. 

The action made them both freeze, Sandor just realising what he had done.

They both looked away out of embarrassment and Sandor cursed himself for being so stupid. 

“Sorry,” he winced.

But as annoyed at himself as he was, Sandor could have sworn for a split second that as he swallowed the honey, Sansa had eyed his lips with a look of interest. But it was only for a moment and Sandor convinced himself he had imagined it.

“I-It’s ok,” Sansa replied. “I suppose I am rather messy,” she laughed nervously.

The two of them sat silently for a while.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Sandor asked, attempting to break the uncomfortable atmosphere.

Sansa looked thoughtful for a moment. “I saw some raspberry bushes near the house earlier... Why don’t we pick some and make a pie?”

Sandor raised his eyebrows. He was all for spending time with Sansa, but raspberries?

Sandor Clegane was not a raspberry man.

“Isn’t there something else you’d want to do?” He asked.

Sansa looked up at him, somehow making her big blue eyes go even larger. Sandor found himself changing his mind somehow and sighed. He wondered how many times at home had Sansa gotten her way with that expression on her face.

He groaned, “Fine.”

Sansa squealed excitedly and got up from her chair, looking around for a basket to carry the berries in.

Sandor was relieved that she had begun to open up around him more, it meant she was no longer afraid to be near him and proved once again that perhaps she was beginning to feel the same way as he did about her. Unlike before, Sandor allowed himself to put some more faith into that feeling.

Sansa found a basket and they went outside together. Sansa trotted over to the raspberry bushes and waited for him, beaming. Sandor ran a hand through his hair, beginning to regret his decision, but followed Sansa over and stood next to her. 

“Have you ever done this before?” Sansa asked, cheerfully.

Sandor snorted. “What do you think?” And Sansa laughed in response.

The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence as Sansa picked the small, red berries off the bush and dropped them into the basket. Sandor tried to look interested but this wasn’t his idea of fun. Besides, no matter how many times he focused on the raspberries, he found himself being drawn back to Sansa. She had collected her hair over onto one shoulder giving Sandor a good view of her slender, white neck. He gazed at her, allowing himself to wonder what it would be like to kiss that neck.  
Suddenly a strangled yell sounded from somewhere deep in the forest, breaking the silence. Sandor frowned but watched as Sansa’s eyes grew wide.

“Father?” She whispered, her face full of emotion.

Sandor watched her, feeling as though his heart were being squeezed. 

She stared into the distance but remained rooted to the spot. 

Sandor felt sadness well up in his heart. They could have been happy together, he was sure of it. She had brought laughter into his life after years of silence and allowed the dull anger in his heart to be calmed, at least for a time. Sandor thought back to the previous night, remembering the feeling of her head pressed against his chest, her nightgown swirling around her as they danced. 

Sandor had been afraid he had lost her, that she had danced right out of his grasp. 

But now he had to let her go.

“Go to him,” Sandor rasped.

Sansa turned to him, confused.

“Just- go. He needs you,” He continued, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Teary eyed, Sansa nodded. Silently, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed Sandor’s scarred cheek before running off in the direction of her father’s cry. 

Feeling numb, Sandor raised his hand towards Sansa as she ran into the forest.

But she was already gone.


	7. Family Reunion

Sansa sat on the edge of her father’s bed, waiting for him to wake up. She had found him on the outskirts of the forest; face down in the mud, collapsed from exhaustion. Somehow she had managed to get them both up onto his horse and galloped as hard and as fast as she could back to Winterfell. 

She gazed at her father’s face and realised for the first time just how tired he looked. There were fresh lines on his face from stress, threads of his hair had turned grey, his whole body slumped against the pillows.

She looked at him sadly, was this her fault?

Eddard Stark was an honest and composed man. He was fair and just with his men but could inflict punishment if necessary. She was proud to have such a father and it distressed her seeing him like this. 

In hindsight, Sansa could now see just how foolish she had been to run away like a naive little girl in search of her knight. Sansa had been lucky to find Sandor, if those outlaws had found her first...

Sansa felt herself becoming nauseous at the thought. 

Sandor had been kind and gentle with her, if a little rough around the edges. She remembered the way he had hugged her by the roses, Sansa wasn’t sure what made him do it but it warmed her inside thinking about it. She found herself smiling at the memory, but all too soon the warmth left her body as she remembered the look on Sandor’s face as he told her she should go to her father. Perhaps it was because she had never seen such a painful expression before and it had brought tears to her eyes, or perhaps it was because the thought of leaving him was more than she could bear. 

Sansa looked down at her lap, feeling her throat tightening as she wondered if she would ever see him again. 

Suddenly her father’s hand twitched and Sansa looked up to see him open his eyes slightly. She scrambled further towards him.

“Father, it’s me, Sansa!” She whispered, feeling the tears welling up.

Ned looked around the room with hazy eyes before looking back at his daughter, “Sansa?”

Sansa nodded as a tear fell down her cheek.

Ned’s eyes opened further in recognition, _“Sansa!”_ He took Sansa in his arms as she began to cry loudly, allowing herself to be comforted like a child.

Eventually Ned drew back, holding her at arm’s length, looking at her searchingly.

“Did he,” Ned began, slowly. “Did he hurt you?”

Sansa looked at her father sadly and shook her head, “He was very kind to me.” 

Her father looked unconvinced. Whilst Ned always tried to see the best in people, Sansa knew he would always put his family’s safety first, so perhaps he wouldn’t believe her when she spoke of Sandor’s kindness. But it didn’t matter, because she knew.

She thought back to the way he had fought off the outlaws for her and been seriously injured because of it. She remembered the sight of him as she waited for him to regain consciousness afterwards; how gentle he looked and the way his mouth lay slightly open as he slept.

Aware of her father’s gaze, Sansa looked at him and saw him smiling. Something in the way her eyes looked as Sansa thought of Sandor had made Ned believe that perhaps what Sansa had said was true. Besides, he had let Ned return to his family unharmed and even allowed him that rose.

“Go and see the others,” Ned said. “They’ve missed you.”

Sansa nodded and left the room.

She had already seen her brothers but, as usual, Arya was nowhere to be found. Sansa stood out in the courtyard and looked around for her little sister. Suddenly Sansa knew where she might be. As she walked through Winterfell, Sansa took in the familiar sights and smells, smiling at the people she knew. As Sansa approached the godswood she slowed her pace, quietening her footsteps. She gave a small smile as she saw the figure kneeling by the huge weirwood.  
Arya looked smaller than Sansa remembered, her dark hair tangled at the back, her clothes muddy. 

“Please make me as strong as my father, as smart as my mother and as brave as my brothers,” Arya whispered to the gods, who so often remained silent. “And...” She lowered her voice so Sansa could barely hear. “Please keep my sister safe, wherever she is.”

Sansa found her eyes brimming with tears again at the sweetness of her sister’s prayer. It wasn’t like the two of them didn’t get along, but it was rare for Sansa to hear such gentle words from Arya’s lips.

Sansa must have made a noise because Arya whirled around and stared at her sister. Sansa walked slowly towards her and dropped to her knees, hugging Arya tightly. Arya didn’t return the embrace at first, but brought her hands up to Sansa’s shoulders and gripped her hard.

“I thought you were dead,” Arya whispered.

Sansa laughed, the noise sounding strange through her tears. 

“Where were you?” Arya asked.

Sansa leaned back from her sister, “I was in King’s Landing,” remembering the cover story her father had given.

Arya raised an eyebrow, “I know a lie when I hear one.”

Sansa sighed, she had forgotten just how cunning her sister was. “Do you remember when father got lost in the forest and found that man who gave him the rose to give to me?”

Arya nodded.

“Well,” Sansa blushed, realising just how flimsy her pretext was. “I went to him, with the rose in mind, thinking that he might be the knight I’ve always dreamed of.”

Arya’s eyes widened, “Are you stupid?”

“I realise now it was a silly thing to do...” Sansa admitted. “But he was kind. He was no knight, but he was a good man.” 

Arya frowned, “What was he like?”

Sansa hesitated. “He’s very tall, muscular, he has a scarred left cheek and-”

“You were with _Sandor Clegane?_ ” Arya cried in disbelief.

Sansa frowned. “How do you know who-”

Arya groaned. “Every kid knows who Sandor Clegane is. Some say he lives with a pack of wild dogs but Micah swears he _is_ a dog. I think he’s human but turns into a dog when he’s hunting.”

Sansa couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the thought of Sandor turning into a dog.

“Why are you laughing, this is serious!” Arya stood up and began fighting an invisible enemy. “If it was me, I’d knock him out flat then steal his horse and escape.” 

Sansa smiled to herself, trying to imagine Arya attacking Sandor’s legs as that was probably the furthest she would reach.

“Oh by the way, that stupid girl you’re friends with was looking for you last week,” Arya said, continuing to fight the air.

“Do you mean Jeyne?” Sansa asked, frowning.

“Yeah,” Arya replied, “Gods she was snivelling and crying when she found out you had gone to King's Landing because she didn't go with you.”

Sansa stood up and dusted herself off, “I’ll go and find her.”

Sansa walked out of the quiet godswood and into the courtyard once more. She walked a little way out of Winterfell and into Winter town, the sound of chickens and goats could be heard throughout the market as she walked through the mud, careful not to get her dress muddy. 

She found Jeyne sooner than expected, sitting on the wall beside a market stall. Her eyes were red and puffy as though she had been crying, but when she looked up and saw Sansa she grinned and hugged her tightly. 

“How was King’s Landing?” Jeyne asked excitedly.

Sansa hesitated. She could easily have lied to Jeyne and praised the gorgeous food and splendour of the city that she had so often imagined in her mind, but a large part of Sansa wanted to talk about Sandor to a friend. She and Jeyne had been friends for a long time and Sansa was sure that she would understand.

She took Jeyne by the arm and they both sat down on the wall.

“Well actually, Jeyne,” Sansa began. “I wasn’t in King’s Landing.”

Her friend’s excitement fell away into a look of confusion.

“I was with a man,” Sansa said quietly.

Jeyne looked shocked for a moment then squealed, “Who was he? What’s he like?”

“His name is,” Sansa stopped, remembering Arya’s reaction, but Jeyne would believe her when she spoke of his kindness. “Sandor Clegane.”

Jeyne’s shocked expression returned, a look of horror in her eyes. 

“He’s nothing like the stories!” Sansa said quickly, blushing. “He’s sweet and kind and he truly cares about me.”

“Sansa, are you _in love_ with him?” Jeyne asked, disgusted.

Sansa's expression grew cold at the tone in Jeyne’s voice and wondered, not for the first time, why she was even friends with Jeyne. 

Not entirely sure of the extent of her feelings for Sandor but at the same time wanting to put herself above Jeyne, Sansa crossed her arms and raised her chin slightly. “Yes.”

Jeyne’s eyes went even wider and she tried to hide her disgust. “But he’s a _monster!_ ”

Sansa felt sudden anger rising through her body, “Don’t you ever say that about him,” she snapped.

This had happened a few times in Sansa’s life, though believing herself to be a well minded and gentle young woman, sometimes she would feel a certain ferocity flooding through her veins and she was reminded of her father’s words that the Starks had “the wolf blood” and she wondered whether that was what it was.

Sansa got up from the wall and stormed off, refusing to hear another bad word against Sandor Clegane.

What Sansa didn’t see, however, was the blond haired boy standing behind the market stall, listening to everything they had said. Furious, he stormed down the alleyway, his guard at his side.

“How dare she!” Joffrey screamed. “That stupid whore thinks she can just run away with another man and live happily ever after!” 

Gregor said nothing, merely staring off into the distance.

“She chose that, that _thing_ over _me!_ I am a _prince!_ I am the prince of Westeros and she _will do as I command!”_ He continued to yell, kicking over a nearby barrel in his anger but yelping as his toe throbbed from the impact. “How dare she choose that beast over me! I will _kill_ that Sandor Clegane!”

Joffrey stopped suddenly and turned to Gregor Clegane. 

A slow menacing smile appeared on Joffrey’s thin lips, “Gregor, I think it’s time for a little family reunion.” 

Sansa sat in the godswood, allowing the tranquillity of the place to sooth her anger. She sat with her back against the heart tree, looking out across the small lake as a leaf glided across the water. The wind here always seemed to be whispering to Sansa, talking of things only they could understand. The air was cold here, as it always was in the North, and Sansa pulled her fur coat around her tighter.

She had been trying to keep her thoughts away from Sandor but he seemed to have a permanent place in her mind now. She saw his crooked grin and remembered the way his rough finger had felt on her cheek as he caught the honey and ate it. For some reason, Sansa had been drawn to his lips as he did so and she found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss those lips. 

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to imagine him kissing her, she tried to imagine how it would feel with his hands gripping her shoulders, or perhaps they would be in her hair, holding her to him. She imagined his facial hair would tickle as they kissed, but Sansa wouldn’t mind.

Suddenly she heard a twig snap in front of her and her eyes shot open to see Joffrey grinning at her, only inches from her face. Sansa shrieked and backed away until she was completely against the weirwood. 

“It’s been a while, my lady,” Joffrey said in a way that made Sansa’s skin crawl.

_‘Not long enough,’_ she thought.

But instead, Sansa just stared at him warily, her body frozen.

“You seem scared, has somebody hurt you?” Joffrey said with mock sympathy lacing his voice. He traced a finger down Sansa’s throat to her collar bone. 

“Don’t touch me,” Sansa said quietly, her voice trembling.

Joffrey scowled. “I’m allowed to touch my own belongings,” he hissed.

Sansa thought of the way Sandor had swung his fist at the men who had tried to hurt her, the look of ferocity on his face and thought made her feel stronger, as though the memory alone was protecting her.

“I said don’t touch me!” She yelled, kicking his chest with her foot making him fall over.

Joffrey gaped at her and stood up, attempting to regain his composure. A sudden thought made his eyes gleam with menace.

“Well rest assured, my lady, the only one who will be touching you from now on is me so you’d better get used to it,” He said.

Sansa stared up at him, a feeling of dread trickling through her body.

“That’s right, I’ve sent someone to go and deal with that beast you seem to have grown so fond of. My guard, Gregor. Gregor Clegane.”

Sansa felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. Her thoughts scrambled and her breathing became quick and heavy as she remembered the scars on Sandor’s cheek, the look of fear in his eyes as he stared at the flames, imagining that little boy screaming as his brother forced his face into the blinding heat, pain tearing through his cheek. It was Gregor.

“Sandor,” Sansa breathed, her voice full of fear as she pictured him lying dead on the forest floor.

Without another word, Sansa scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as she could, her only thoughts were of Sandor and the fear that she would never get to tell him about the love that was growing in her heart.


	8. A Bloodstained Fairytale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty violent chapter but fluffy as well..

There was no time to tell her family where she was going. 

‘ _There is never enough time_ ,’ Sansa thought bitterly as she galloped down the road leading to the forest. Rain was pouring down, grabbing at Sansa’s cloak as it flapped in the wind. 

Sansa did not think about rain, she barely noticed it. All she could think about was the fact that Sandor might already be dead and she might be too late. She was no fool, Sansa knew Sandor was a large man, and probably a good fighter, but Gregor Clegane was not a man. He was a mountain. Sansa had seen him around Winterfell with Joffrey; always expressionless, always towering above everyone. Sansa was not sure how this day would end, but she refused to give up or give in. Not now when she could feel her heart thundering inside her chest at the thought of Sandor dead.

“ _Please,_ ” she whispered.

Sansa was afraid. Not just of the impending scene waiting to confront her, but of herself too. The feelings she held scared her, she had never felt like this before and it was a little frightened. It wasn’t just a fleeting crush like it had been with Joffrey, it was something more than that, was it love?

Sansa shook her head. Now was not the time to be thinking of her feelings. That could wait until she was sure Sandor was safe.

“He’s alive,” she murmured. Surely she would somehow know if he wasn’t? 

Unlike last time, Sansa galloped straight into the forest without a second thought, after all, nothing in this forest was half as terrifying as the thought of Sandor lying dead on the ground.

The sky became darker in the forest although it was only early evening. The rain poured through gaps in the canopy as Sansa rode on, crashing straight through any and all obstacles that were in her path. Sansa now knew the way to the house by looking at landmarks so it wouldn’t take as much time to get there.

It wasn’t that Sansa felt brave or courageous, but fear drove her on, as though a huge tidal wave was building up behind her and she had to keep going in order to escape it.  
Suddenly a giant roar was thrown up from further in the forest. The direction of the house.

Sansa reined her horse to a stop and she stood there, frozen by fear.

Did she really want to go any further? 

Sansa couldn’t help but think that when she got to the house, she would find Sandor dead and Gregor very much alive. She had heard the tales of Gregor raping and killing dozens of women and Sansa was terrified of him; she couldn’t begin to imagine having a brother like that. Suddenly Sansa pictured Sandor as a young boy with his face pressed against the scolding hot flames, screaming in pain as his older brother held him down, silent. 

With her lip trembling, Sansa urged her horse to walk on towards the house. The forest seemed deathly silent now, the only sound she could hear was the sound of her own heart beat. As Sansa came into a small clearing she let out a shriek.

There, lying on the ground, were three bodies.

Choked with fear, Sansa dismounted and began to stumble towards them, falling to the ground in front of the woman, Potts. Her eyes were closed and there was blood streaming from a wound below her chest. She was breathing, but her gasps of air were shaky. She opened an eye slowly and looked at Sansa, appearing to take great effort in doing so.

“Sansa?” She croaked.

Sansa was too shocked and scared to cry, she nodded, trembling.

“You have to get out of here,” Potts continued, her words slow and full of pain.

“I can’t leave him,” Sansa whispered.

“Gregor is a monster. He will kill Sandor and to you he will...” Potts trailed off, looking at Sansa, her meaning obvious.

Sansa closed her eyes, feeling sick at the thought but she pushed it away, opening her eyes once more.

“M’lord is weak, without you he’s lost all hope. He doesn’t stand a chance against his brother,” Potts continued, her words growing fainter. 

Sansa looked at Potts sadly. “He needs me.”

Potts’ eyes rolled to the side and her breathing ceased. Sansa felt the tears well up and she leaned into the woman’s chest allowing herself to cry. She had never seen death more, and it was ugly and cruel and unfair. Sansa thought of Potts’ kindness and her gentle words, making it all the more painful. 

After a few minutes, Sansa composed herself and closed Potts’ eyes along with Lumiere’s and Cogsworth’s. She mounted her horse and continued towards the house, her body drowning in terror.

Sansa pushed back the branches in her way, took a deep breath, and looked up at the house, shaking with fear. But there was nothing. The house merely stood as it always had with its dark, vine covered walls and broken windows, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Sansa stared at it, confused. 

Had she imagined that roar?

‘ _No,_ ’ Sansa thought, ‘ _that’s not a sound that someone forgets._ ’

Suddenly the sound of something smashing through glass sounded from the house and Sansa looked up to see Sandor being thrown through the second floor glass door onto the balcony.

Fear strangling all noise from her, Sansa could do nothing but simply stare up at the horror of the scene in front of her. Gregor Clegane walked through the door frame, towering over Sandor’s crumpled body.

Sansa leapt down from her horse but fell to the ground, her fear rendering her legs useless. Somehow she pulled herself up and scrambled towards the house, thankfully neither brother saw her as she disappeared into the house.

Sansa tore through the house, her legs giving way every couple of feet as terror sapped the strength from her body. She reached the second floor corridor and saw the smashed glass door leading to the balcony and stopped just before the door frame.

Sandor lay on the ground at Gregor’s feet, his face looking as though all hope had gone from him. He stared down at the ground, his body limp. He was covered in blood from the glass but Gregor held no sword, fighting with his fists.

“Sandor,” Sansa whispered, wide eyed at the despair filled scene. Realising she had barely made a noise, Sansa called again, “ _SANDOR!_ ” She shrieked.

Sandor’s eyes rolled towards her, devoid of expression. He frowned slightly, and then his eyes widened, his mouth dropping open slightly. 

Gregor turned around slowly and faced Sansa. As she stared into those cold, dark eyes, Sansa felt as though the world had grown still. With just that gaze, Sansa felt the life drain from her and she fell the ground, immobilised by terror. It was as though Sansa was not looking at a man, but at his sins. It was as though she was seeing her death reflected in his eyes, so sure she was of how he was going to kill her. He grinned, slowly, and began to walk towards Sansa. She didn’t fight, she didn’t run, she couldn’t. Sansa felt like a bird caught in a trap, there was no point trying to fight it.

 

Sandor saw the look on Gregor’s face as he turned towards Sansa and felt rage churning inside of his body. He felt adrenaline flooding through his veins at the thought of Gregor reaching Sansa’s fragile little body. Sandor shook with rage and he stood up, silently, forgetting about his wounds. With a ferocious roar, he threw a punch at Gregor, so full of rage and hatred that it knocked him to the floor. Sandor felt the familiar rage burning inside him as he thought of all the pain Gregor had caused the world. He stood over him, heaving with anger.

“ _How dare you look at her,_ ” Sandor growled, savagely. 

Gregor stared up at him with those familiar dead eyes and Sandor snarled down at him, leaning close to Gregor, his breathing heavy. Sandor wanted to take his time killing his brother, if anyone deserved a torturing death it was Gregor Clegane. Sandor raised his fist again, but Gregor lurched forward and bit down hard on Sandor’s shoulder, reopening his old stab wound and ripping the skin off his body.

Sandor howled in pain, feeling his shoulder throbbing in agony. More furious than ever, Sandor drew on his strength and stabbed Gregor in the eyes, blinding him. Gregor roared in pain and backed away from Sandor, heaving. Sandor did not waste any more time. He grabbed Gregor by the throat and yanked him upwards, feeling his shoulder ripple with pain, and threw him off the balcony, watching as Gregor fell to the ground with a sickening crunch. 

Sandor fell the ground, feeling all strength leave his body. Pain rolled through his body and he felt warmth gushing from his shoulder. With dull eyes, he looked desperately around for Sansa and saw her running towards him. With a small smile, Sandor felt his eyes close.

 

Sansa fell to the ground next to Sandor, crying out at the amount of blood flowing from his shoulder. Gritting her teeth she attempted to tear off a part of her cloak to wrap around the wound, but she was too weak from exhaustion and despair, so she simple tied the cloak around it, tightly. Sobbing uncontrollably she laid her head on his chest, curling her hand against his shirt, her tears absorbed by the fabric. Sansa could feel his tiny breaths fluttering underneath her, but he was growing weaker.

‘ _There is never enough time,_ ’ Sansa thought.

The two of them were so close together, their bodies touching, but they were worlds away from one another.

Sansa raised her head and looked at Sandor’s bruised and scarred face. Very carefully she stroked his cheek with a trembling hand. In that moment Sansa realised that she had come to love him. She felt it with the feel of his cheek against her hand, she felt it with every breath she took it and she felt it with every beat of her heart.  
Very slowly Sansa dragged herself up so her face was above Sandor’s. She cupped his cheek and brought it so he was facing her. With tears still in her eyes, Sansa leaned forward so her forehead was touching his.

“I love you,” she whispered, and kissed him softly on the lips, drawing it out for several moments.

Sansa didn’t feel like moving an inch from Sandor’s limp body, so she simply lay down next to him, feeling the rain beat against her face and body. She closed her eyes, feeling distant from the rest of the world.

When Sansa awoke some time later, she felt a new wash of despair as she remembered everything that had happened. Lip trembling, she turned towards Sandor only to find him sitting up and looking at her, eyebrows raised.

“Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around?” He asked, his tone amused.

Sansa bolted up, taking all of him in.

Sandor was alive. _He was alive._

Sansa felt a mixture of relief and happiness swallow her whole and she flung herself into Sandor’s arms, laughing.

Sandor winced, “Easy there,” he said, and Sansa jolted back remembering his wound.

“How do you feel?” She asked anxiously.

“Alright. My shoulder’s killing me though,” he laughed quietly. “Did you wrap your entire cloak around it?”

Sansa flushed, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

He chuckled in his rasping voice. “It stopped the bleeding at least.”

Sansa smiled at him, unable to appreciate anything other than the fact that Sandor was alive.

Sandor frowned, however, and looked at her. “Did you...” he began. “Did you kiss me?”

Sansa’s flush deepened and turned her head away from him, “No”.

Sandor grinned at her obvious lie and moved so he was closer to her, leaning close to her face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He took her by the chin, drawing her blushing face to his and kissed her deeply. Sandor breathed in the smell of the forest clinging to her skin and brushed his fingers through her long hair, ignoring the pain it brought his shoulder. 

Sansa smiled through the kiss. It was no fairytale, he was no Jonquil but then again, she was no Florian.


End file.
